


Giving In

by FictionalNutter



Series: Tumblr Prompts [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Butt Plugs, Conflicted Dean, Corporal Punishment, Dirty Talk, Dom Sam Winchester, Dom/sub, Light BDSM, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Name-Calling, Punishment, Soulless Sam Winchester, Spanking, Sub Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3830605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionalNutter/pseuds/FictionalNutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted to Tumblr, based on a prompt from charliebradburry about soulless!Sam dominating the hell out of Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Giving In

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://supernaturallyimagined.tumblr.com/post/117499612118/answering-a-prompt-from-charliebradburry-regarding).
> 
> I'm always accepting prompts on my [Tumblr](http://supernaturallyimagined.tumblr.com%22).

Dean was already way past tense by the time they got back to the motel room. He had driven away from the forest they'd been (successfully) hunting in with his fingers gripped so tightly around the steering wheel that his knuckles were white. His back was ramrod straight, and he was hyper aware of Sam's hand across the bench of the seat, easily within reach of his neck. That was a thing for the soulless remnant of his brother - having Dean's neck within reach. He hadn't put his hand on the back of Dean's neck while the older Winchester was driving - thankfully - but the promise of intent in the twitching fingers Dean had known were behind him was just as bad. Possibly worse.

As they entered the motel room, Dean turned to face Sam, intending to argue his case. After all, Dean was pretty damn sure he was in the right. The tension causing him to vibrate like the string on a guitar was because he knew for a fact that Sam believed Dean had broken one of their rules. Which, to be fair, he had.

Sam without a soul liked to have a ridiculous amount of control over every situation, especially hunts, but even more especially Dean. So when Dean had used himself as bait to keep the black dog away from Sam, despite Sam ordering him not to, Dean had known what the consequences would be.

"Look, Sam-"

"Kneel, Dean," Sam interrupted. He closed the door softly behind them and removed his jacket, tossing it neatly over the back of the chair to his right. He rolled up the sleeves on his shirt carefully, ensuring they were even and resting just at his elbow before he refocused on Dean, who was still standing before him defiantly.

Dean tried again. "I stopped-"

"If I have to ask twice, it will be worse," Sam reminded him, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Truthfully, Dean always knew how these situations would end. His Sam - his Sammy, he liked to differentiate - hadn't been into these power games. They'd been on equal footing, true partners in bed as in life, most of the time at least. It wasn't like they didn't have their hiccups, but this was different. This Sam, this soulless bastard, this one had control issues. He was the better hunter, unburdened by morality, and Dean was a tool. Dean knew that's all he was, but it was Sam. He didn't really have a choice in the matter. One day, he would get his Sammy back, but in the meantime he wasn't strong enough to resist the power this Sam could hold over him. Still, he struggled. It might always end the same way, but he didn't have to admit that out loud. If Sam wanted Dean on his knees begging for punishment, he was going to have to make it happen. 

That wasn't a problem for Sam.

Before Dean could voice an additional protest, Sam had both hands on his brother's shoulders and was forcing him down.

Dean buckled to the ground hard, his knees slamming onto the barely carpeted floor. He hissed a litany of swear words as he went down, narrowly avoiding biting into his tongue.

"You know how this works, Dean," Sam instructed, lightly caressing the back of his brother's neck as a reminder.

He did know how it worked, which is why he was fighting it. That was the dance, and it made Dean feel marginally better for eventually giving in like he knew he would.

"You didn't get yourself injured, which is a small mercy, I suppose," Sam continued, pacing softly around Dean, who made no move to get off the floor. "Still, you know better than to be so reckless. We've been over this."

"Why do you even care?" Dean demanded. It was an old question. Technically, this Sam didn't care, but the reasons he could come up with for why Dean's compliance and continued breathing mattered were always interesting.

Sam made a humming noise as he considered the question. "You belong to me, Dean," he finally replied, coming to a stop in front of his brother again. Leaning down, he gripped his hand lightly around Dean's throat, exerting the tiniest amount of pressure to make his point clear. "I dislike my things being damaged."

"Not a thing," Dean huffed, but the protest was quiet and his eyes were focused on Sam's hand, still around his neck.

Sam huffed a laugh. "Debatable."

The cadence of Sam's speech was all wrong like this. It was one of the main things that helped Dean remember that this wasn't his Sammy. Soon, it wouldn't matter, but he held onto the reminder for a few more precious minutes.

"If you like, I can give you a choice," Sam offered, removing his hand and straightening so he was towering over Dean's again.

"What choice?" Dean asked, choosing not to draw it out. Sam so rarely gave him any ability to choose in these situations.

"The crop or my hand," Sam stated, as though it was a perfectly innocent decision to be made.

"Your hand," Dean answered immediately. He'd be more deeply bruised in the morning, but at least with that contact Dean could pretend an illusion of intimacy.

Sam knew how Dean's mind worked, but never called him on it. Instead he nodded in agreement, tapping on Dean's shoulder lightly. "Strip, then join me on the bed. If you delay, I'll double your current count."

Dean knew better than to ask how much his current count was. Given the infraction, it was probably around thirty. Thankfully Sam wasn't the type to make him count. Other noises were apparently more gratifying. If they hadn't had a long drive in the morning, Dean might have held out longer, but this dance had grown so familiar that the logical part of his brain won out. He might have been sad about that, but he chose to ignore it, instead removing his clothing as deftly as he could while still kneeling. As soon as he was finished, he looked to Sam, who nodded once. That was Dean's cue to rise and move over to Sam, who was now sitting on the edge of the bed furthest from the door.

"Across my lap, Dean. You know how this works." Sam waited patiently as Dean lowered himself into position with resignation. "If you come, I will lock you in the cock cage for the rest of the month."

Dean flushed bright red and hid his face, trying to calm himself. He was only half hard, but Sam knew him too well, even before the screwed up power dynamics. Spanking wasn't something he would have picked out as a kink, but apparently it had chosen him. It was not at all uncommon for Sam to bring him to the brink of orgasm merely by beating his ass red. Half the time it wasn't even really punishment. When it was though, Dean wasn't allowed to come. He hated being in the cock cage, which was exactly why Sam had bought the damn thing. More control.

"Ready?" Sam prompted, waiting for Dean to say his piece. There were rules for this too.

"Please punish me, Sam," Dean bit out, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He could get through this.

The first hit wasn't really a surprise, but the speed with which the second and third fell was. Dean gasped harshly, and inhaled deeply to try and temper his reaction. His cock was definitely trying to convince him to enjoy himself, but Dean wasn't going to allow it. He could show some self control, dammit.

Sam hit ten before Dean was at full hardness, which was success on Dean's part, but it was harder to hold himself back when each time Sam's hand smacked into him he felt the urge growing.

At fifteen, Dean was bleeding from biting his lip and his fists were clenched. He was sweating from the sheer effort.

Sam took a pause at twenty, rubbing his hand lightly over Dean's ass and humming to himself. "Lovely color. Ten more, I think."

So, thirty. Dean had been right in his estimate. He huffed a few breaths, trying to calm himself. He could do ten more. There wasn't any promise that he would come tonight, but he could live with that. The cock cage was a whole different story. Dean was stronger than that. He steeled himself, ready to take the remaining ten.

Sam didn't hold back, laying into Dean's ass with his full strength.

Dean knew he was crying out, but he couldn't waste any energy on controlling his voice when he was teetering on the edge. It felt like super human effort, but all of a sudden the force of Sam's hand disappeared, and he was being lifted out of his position on Sam's lap.

"You did well," Sam praised him, a smirk on his face. "If you can wait until I'm inside you, then you can come whenever you want."

That was a reward, Dean was pretty sure. Sam usually exerted more control than that, but that was still within normal boundaries, so Dean wasn't going to question it. Too tired to consider any further pretense of fighting back, Dean rolled onto all fours, ignoring the humiliation of presenting his ass to his soulless brother. That wasn't the worst part anyway.

Sam tapped on the plug spreading Dean open, chuckling with pleasure at the noise he got in response. "I like this best," he commented conversationally. "You open for me already, lubed up with cum from previous fucks." He tugged at the plug, pulling it slowly from Dean's opening. "Such a whore, Dean. Do you enjoy it? Being my slut?"

"Yes, Sam," Dean muttered into the pillow. God help him, he did. If he didn't, maybe everything would have been easier.

Sam swatted him hard on his ass, surprising Dean. "Louder."

"Yes, Sam," Dean repeated, lifting his face out of the pillow so he could be heard.

"Say it, Dean," Sam warned.

Dean's eyes burned, but he ignored them. "I love being your whore, Sam."

"Not quite," Sam corrected, teasing at Dean's rim with the plug. "Try again."

The burn of not-quite-there tears got worse, and Dean sucked in a ragged breath before choking out, "I love being your fucktoy, Sam."

Sam pulled the plug out without ceremony and spared a brief glance at Dean's hole before rising up on his knees and unbuttoning his jeans. He rarely undressed for these times, preferring to use Dean and then continue on with whatever else needed to be accomplished. It was more satisfying to have Dean naked under him that way. He withdrew a small package of lube from his back pocket, tearing it open and jacking himself with it briefly in preparation. Dean was usually fine, but Sam wasn't interested in breaking him. After all, he didn't like it when his things were damaged.

"Sam-" Dean started to say, but he was suddenly face first in the pillow again as Sam rammed into him without warning.

Thrusting quickly, Sam tightened his grip on Dean's hips, fingers lining up with bruises from the last time. He jerked Dean towards himself, grunting with the exertion as he made use of his brother's reddened and sore ass.

"Ugh - Sam -" Dean groaned as Sam thrust against his prostate, his eyes rolling up into his head as he tried to catch his breath. He was so close - had Sam said it was all right to come whenever? He suddenly couldn't remember, and letting go without permission wasn't worth it.

"Filthy whore," Sam grunted, tightening and then loosening his grip on Dean's hips for emphasis. "Always dripping my come from your well-fucked ass, always reading for a beating. You break the rules on purpose, don't you?" Sam huffed, pushing forward particularly roughly before drawing back. "Love having your ass red from my hand, plugged up from a good fucking. You were just born to be a fucktoy, Dean."

Dean felt the burning in his eyes again, but the pressure from his need to orgasm was stronger, and he panted out, "Sam, please!"

"Dying to come, Dean?" Sam laughed, increasing his speed. "You come just from this, from me in your bright red ass. Do it, Dean, come without a hand on you. Such a slut - know you can - come!" Sam's sentences got choppier, as usually happened when he got closer. 

Dean was beyond caring, now that he was sure he had permission. One well aimed thrust from Sam and he was coming, coating the motel sheets as he collapsed into the wet spot. He dimly heard Sam's cry as his brother joined him, then felt Sam's weight lift off of him. He knew what would happen now without looking. Sam would tuck himself away and run his hands through his hair, looking none the worse for wear. He would then replace Dean's plug - as if on cue, Dean felt the plastic re-enter him - then grab the laptop and move to the other bed to research, leaving Dean to sleep in the sex-messed bed.

Maybe one day, things would go back to the way they were before. Dean wasn't actually sure what he wanted anymore.


End file.
